With A Dad Like This, I Don't Need Enemies
by Collegekid2006
Summary: We've all read fics where Shawn gets a bump on the head and becomes a real psychic...but what if the reverse was true? What if after an accident, Shawn loses all his powers of observation? What if the accident might have been Henry's fault?
1. Chapter 1

"Shawn."

The quiet voice cut through the swirling, painful fog.

Shawn tried to answer it, but he couldn't even move. None of his muscles seemed to be responding to his commands.

_I think I broke my body…_he groaned, somehow managing to form a cohesive thought through the radiating agony.

"Shawn," the voice said again. "Can you hear me?"

Slowly, he forced his eyes open.

He was laying flat on his back on the hard ground in his father's front yard, staring up into the infinite blue sky above. He blinked slowly, trying to remember how he'd ended up there…

Henry was kneeling next to him, gently prodding his arms and legs, checking for broken bones.

Shawn groaned again, still unable to figure out how to make his mouth move to speak.

"Don't talk, Kid." Henry mumbled, quickly looking at Shawn's pupils when he saw his eyes were open now. "The ambulance is on its way."

Shawn tried to nod.

"I don't think anything's broken and I don't think you have a neck injury," Henry continued, sitting on the grass next to his son. "But you definitely have a concussion."

Shawn grunted wearily.

It didn't feel like he had a concussion.

It felt like he'd smashed every bone in his body into a thousand tiny pieces.

"What happened?" He asked once he could remember how to talk, his voice coming out as a tiny, pathetic whimper.

Henry glanced down at him, suddenly looking concerned.

"You don't remember?"

"No."

"You fell."

"Off a cliff?" Shawn moaned.

"Close enough. You fell off the roof, Kid."

"Roof?"

Shawn closed his eyes again, trying to find his last memory…

But there wasn't one.

"Yeah." Henry told him, still regarding him with concern. "You were cleaning out the gutters. Don't you remember anything?"

"No."

"Well, you were using the ladder, but then you thought it'd be faster to just climb on the roof to clean them out."

"Oh."

It sounded familiar…

So familiar…

"Were you up there?" He asked, something like a memory slowly fading into his mind.

Henry…on the roof…falling…

"Yeah." Henry answered quietly.

"Did you--"

"Shawn. Stop talking."

In the distance, they could hear the screaming of the ambulance's siren, coming closer.

Shawn groaned again, letting his head roll to one side.

"Okay…" he murmured, not really caring what had happened anymore. He just wanted the pain to stop.

* * *

"He has a concussion, so we're going to keep him overnight for observation." The doctor told Henry outside Shawn's hospital room, scribbling notes on a chart.

"But he'll be okay?" Henry asked.

"Should be," the doctor replied. "Nothing's broken and there don't seem to be any internal injuries. We just want to make sure the head injury isn't more severe than it appears. His memory is coming back, which is a good sign."

"Yeah," Henry mumbled, not sounding convinced. "A good sign…"

"We'll have to wait to be sure, but barring any unforeseen complications, Shawn should be able to go home tomorrow."

The doctor dropped the chart back into the slot on the door and moved on.

Henry sighed and walked back into Shawn's room.

"What'd he say?" Shawn asked, his eyes already glazing over from the painkillers surging through his bloodstream.

"You'll live, Kid."

"Damn."

Henry laughed and collapsed into a chair on the opposite side of the room.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Shawn's eyes were closed again, his forehead creased as he fought against the pain.

"Dad…" he mumbled finally, not opening his eyes.

"Yeah, kid?"

"What color's your shirt?"

"What?"

"Your shirt." Shawn repeated slowly. "What color's your shirt?"

"Blue. Why?"

"Because." Shawn's eyes snapped open. "I can't remember. I can't see it in my head."


	2. Chapter 2

"Dad! I can't do it!" Shawn groaned. "I can't remember!"

He was sitting at his father's kitchen table, his hands clutching painfully at the back of his head.

Henry leaned across intently, his hand brushing past Shawn's elbow.

"Yes, you can, Shawn." He insisted. "You have to."

"Why? Why do I have to?"

"Because!" Henry snapped. "You do!"

" My head…" Shawn moaned, resting it on the table. "It still hurts! I can't think…"

"You're not trying!"

"Yes, I am!"

"You've been doing this your whole life, Kid. It's just going to take some practice to get it back."

"Dad!" Shawn lifted his head again, his eyes strained and pleading. "I can't do it."

Henry folded his arms across his chest and leaned back in his chair.

"Try."

"Fine!"

Shawn sighed and closed his eyes, his index fingers digging into his temple. Henry leaned forward almost eagerly as he watched, but part of him already knew it wasn't going to work. Shawn's face was placid and diffident, without any of the usual traces of deep concentration and near-arrogance.

"Now tell me what you see," Henry ordered, his heart beginning to beat just a little bit faster.

_This has to work…_he told himself doggedly, his jaw clenching in determination.

_It can't be gone… _

_It can't be gone… _

Shawn's brow furrowed. He winced as his fingers slowly traced circles on the side of his head, as if the very act of thinking was painful.

"I don't know." He said finally, after waiting far too long to say anything.

Henry shook his head, sighing to himself.

_He should have it nailed by now…he should know… _

"Shawn. Come on." He urged.

Shawn slammed the table with his fist, opening his eyes again and glaring at his father.

"Dad! I don't see anything! I know what I'm supposed to see, but I don't see it! I just don't!"

Henry could hear it in his voice now. He could see it in his eyes.

Shawn was trying.

_It's not his fault… _

_It's gone. _

_It's really gone… _

"It'll come back, Kid." He assured him, standing up and walking to the door. "Give it time. It'll come back."

"What if it doesn't?" Shawn asked, slumping in his seat.

Henry paused in the doorway, thoughtfully turning around again.

"It will. It has to."

* * *

"Shawn, what are we doing here?" Gus asked, running to catch up with best friend, who was walking briskly up the sidewalk towards the yellow police tape.

"We're going to a crime scene, Gus." He answered with a shrug.

Gus grabbed his shoulder and turned him around, pushing him back towards the blue Echo.

"You fell off a roof three days ago!" He lectured. "You're still taking pain meds!"

"So?"

"So you shouldn't be working!"

Shawn snorted and shook Gus' hand off, ducking under the tape.

"I'm fine."

"Oh, yeah? Then close your eyes and tell me what I'm wearing."

"That's not a fair question, Gus. You change ten times a day. I can't possibly keep track. Honestly, you're like a high school girl."

"I'm not kidding, Shawn!" Gus snapped. "You said yourself you haven't been able to think straight since you hit your head! What, exactly, do you think you're going to do here if you can't think or use your memory?"

"The same thing I always do." Shawn asserted. "Fake being a psychic and help solve a crime."

"_How?_"

"I have no idea. But I don't have a choice, Gus. We need the cases. If they find out I'm not a psychic anymore, they'll never hire me again."

"You were never a psychic, Shawn."

"Then nothing's changed. Has it?"

Shawn stepped into the apartment building and followed the herd of police officers to the crime scene. Gus was right behind.

"Hey, Shawn!" Jules grinned and waved as they entered. "Hey, Gus."

"Hey, Jules." Shawn returned the smile, playing it as cool as possible. "What do we have?"

"Apparent suicide." Lassiter stepped in, pointing to a sheet-covered body in the center of the floor. "Lab boys said it checks out so far. Single gunshot wound to the temple, powder burns on the victim's hands and head. No signs of foul play and no signs anyone else was here."

"Then why do you need me?" Shawn asked, looking around at the sparsely-furnished apartment.

"Because the victim's family is screaming at the Chief that he couldn't have killed himself." Lassiter muttered. "So she wanted you to do…whatever the hell it is you do…to get them to shut up and accept it."

Shawn looked down at the body. One of the hands was sticking out from underneath the sheet. He squinted at it, knowing he should see something more than a hand…but he didn't.

He just didn't.

He walked around, gazing up at the ceiling and walls, trying to pretend like he was seeing everything the way he always did…but if he closed his eyes, he couldn't even remember what color the walls were or if they were painted or wall-papered, or how many windows there were in the apartment.

He couldn't remember anything.

He looked over and saw that Juliet was watching him intently.

"Anything yet?" She asked.

Shawn shook his head.

"No."

"Oh."

She sounded disappointed. Shawn's ears started to burn at the perceived slight.

"Well, I've been here three minutes, Jules!" He snapped defensively. "Give me some time!"

She blinked in surprise. Shawn ignored it and quickly grabbed Gus, pulling him into the corner of the apartment.

"Dude!" He hissed. "Give me something!"

"Give you _what?_"

"I don't know! Something! Anything! I need a psychic vision!"

"Shawn. I'm not a psychic. I don't know anything about this case. All I know is that the victim was wearing a Rolex. An expensive one, too."

"That's it? Even Lassie could get that one!"

"Spencer!" Lassiter called from the other side of the room. "If you're not going to do anything actually productive, why don't you and your little sidekick just go home and leave the investigating to the real cops?"

"Sidekick?" Gus growled lowly. "Did he just call me your damn sidekick?"

"Yes, he did, Gus."

"Oh, it's on!"

Gus stared at the body, almost as if he thought he might be able to see through the opaque sheet if he kept trying.

"Wait…" he murmured.

"What?"

"That Rolex…I know it. I was looking at them when I got my raise. There's only one store in town that sells that model."

"Which store?"

"Bensen's."

"Good enough for me." Shawn shrugged, grabbing his temple and calling out loudly.

"Oh! I'm getting something!"

Lassiter rolled his eyes as Shawn stumbled over to him, in the throws of a psychic vision.

"Damn it, Spencer…"

"Borders!" Shawn yelled.

"The bookstore?" Juliet asked, her pen poised to write down whatever Shawn said.

"Barton's!" Shawn corrected. "No…no…Benny's…Benny and the Jets?...No! Bensen's! The victim shopped at Bensen's Jewelers!"

"So?" Lassiter growled. "What the hell does that have to do with anything? He didn't kill himself because of a jewelry store, Spencer."

"No…" Shawn conceded.

"Do you have anything else?" Juliet asked patiently.

Shawn glanced over at Gus, who shrugged helplessly.

"No." Shawn mumbled, looking down at the floor.

"And who says you're a waste of valuable department resources?" Lassiter muttered sarcastically, rolling his eyes as he walked away.

"Are you okay?" Juliet asked him, looking concerned. "You seem…off today."

"I'm fine, Jules."

"Okay…"

She shook her head and rejoined her partner on the other side of the apartment.

"This isn't going to work, Gus." Shawn sighed. "I'm going to need some help."


	3. Chapter 3

"Dad!" Shawn yelled up at his father's window, pounding relentlessly on the front door. "Dad!"

Henry suddenly appeared at the door, pulling his bathrobe tightly around him as he rubbed his head and blinked groggily at his son.

"Shawn?" He grumbled, pushing the screen open to let him inside. "It's one o'clock in the morning! What the hell do you want? You'd better be bleeding to death!"

Shawn elbowed past him into the kitchen, dropping a pile of files on the table as he slid into one of the chairs.

"I'm not bleeding." He snapped. "And I'm not dying. Sorry to disappoint you."

"Then what the hell--"

"I need help, Dad."

Henry blinked again, his mind finally beginning to function normally as he crawled out of his sleep-induced fog.

"Oh, God," he groaned, watching Shawn open the files and begin to sort through the papers inside. "I'm going to need coffee, aren't I?"

"Probably."

Shawn continued diligently sifting, dividing the papers and photos into piles on the kitchen table. Henry started the coffee, then took a seat opposite his son with a heavy sigh.

"Okay, Kid. What's going on?"

"It's this case I got--" Shawn began, but was cut off by his father before he could complete his thought.

"You took a case?" He demanded disapprovingly. "Already? Yesterday, you couldn't even remember what was on the kitchen counter with your eyes closed."

"I still can't." Shawn muttered bitterly.

"Then what the hell are you doing taking a case? Shawn, you have to give it time."

"I don't have a choice!" Shawn insisted, his fists curling into tight, frustrated balls. "It's my job! I _can't_ give it time. If I give it time…if I start passing up cases…"

He paused, his voice trailing off someplace he didn't want to follow.

"I need to do this, Dad." He whispered finally, his eyes meeting his father's. "It's not like I'm asking you to crack it. Just look it over and give me something…anything…I can use for a vision tomorrow. Just until I get it back…I'm going to get it back…"

Henry sighed again, absently scratching his cheek as he looked back and forth between the files and his son's eager, pleading eyes.

Finally, he reached across the table and picked up the closest stack of crime scene photos and began to flip thorugh them.

"What's the case?" He mumbled.

Shawn grinned, inching his chair closer to Henry so he could see the photos, too.

"A suicide that someone somewhere thinks is murder."

"Someone somewhere _always_ thinks suicides are murder, Shawn. You know that."

"Sometimes, they are."

"Sometimes, they're not."

"Is this your idea of being helpful?" Shawn snapped.

"At 1 AM, yes." Henry retorted, putting the photos down again. He ran his fingers over his head, still trying to clear the lingering cobwebs away from his mind. "What did you come up with at the scene?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?" Henry arched his eyebrows, his forehead wrinkling.

"Just the Rolex he was wearing…" Shawn shrugged. "Gus saw it. There's only one store in town that sells them, apparently."

"You didn't notice the watch?"

Henry didn't bother trying to hide his concern. He stared at Shawn, searching his eyes for any glimmer of the analytical mind that should have been lurking somewhere behind them.

But there was nothing.

Shawn just returned his gaze blankly, not even aware he had missed something, much less how important it was.

"No." He shook his head slowly. "I didn't notice the watch."

"What about after Gus pointed it out?" Henry pressed on, still clinging to the hope that this wasn't as bad it seemed. "Didn't anything occur to you about it?"

"No."

"Shawn!"

"What?"

"This has nothing to do with memory!" Henry shouted, snatching the photos angrily off the table and lining them up in front of Shawn. "You don't have to be able to see the watch in your head! You don't have to be able to see or remember anything to figure this out, Kid! You just have to use basic logic!"

"What logic?"

"Look at the watch, Shawn!"

"What about it?"

Shawn glanced down at the picture, scrutinizing it as carefully as he could, but all he saw was a watch.

Just a watch…

"It's a Rolex." Henry prompted impatiently.

"Yeah…" Shawn nodded slowly, still not comprehending where his father was taking this.

"Damn it, Shawn! _Think!_"

"About _what?_"

"Look at the apartment! Do you see anything else in it that looks expensive? Do you see anything else _at all_?"

"No…"

"There's not even a couch, Shawn. What's a guy who lives in a crappy apartment and doesn't even own a couch doing with one of the most expensive Rolexes you can buy? For that matter, what's a guy who can afford a Rolex doing killing himself?"

Shawn blinked, staring down at the photos in horror.

"I don't know…" he mumbled, his eyes growing wide as he realized for the first time just how bad off he was.

"Well, then maybe you need to answer those questions first. Maybe _that's_ where you'll get your little psychic vision."

But Shawn wasn't listening anymore. He had picked up the pictures again and was flipping through them frantically.

"Damn it!" He shouted, finally throwing them in the air and letting them flutter back down to the floor. "How the hell did I miss _that?_"

"I don't know." Henry answered quietly.

"What the hell am I doing?" Shawn groaned, dropping his head on the table in defeat. "I couldn't even make one damn conclusion!"

"Shawn--"

"I thought it was just my memory! But I can't even _think_, Dad! I can't even think when someone_else_ points out a damn clue!"

He pushed back from the table, leaving everything where it was scattered around the kitchen, and marched to the door.

Henry remained seated at the table. A moment later, he heard the screen door slam shut and Shawn's motorcycle peel away. But he still didn't move. He just sat, silently staring at the floor.

Finally, he slowly got up and gathered the papers and pictures, putting them back in the files. He flicked the light off and silently went back up the stairs to bed.

But he knew he wasn't going to sleep.

He lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, hearing Shawn's words echoing through his mind.

_I can't even think…I can't even think… _

His stomach twisted into a new knot with each reverbation.

_It's worse than I thought… _

_He might never get it back… _

_Not if he missed something that obvious… _

He groaned to himself, overcome by feelings of guilt as he realized that part of him didn't want Shawn to be able to think.

Part of him didn't want Shawn to get it back.

_If his memory starts to come back… _

_If he can think again… _

_Sooner or later, he's going to remember what really happened…_


	4. Chapter 4

"Gus, I want you to hit me."

Gus looked up from his cell phone, surprised but fully expecting to see Shawn grinning good-humoredly at him.

But Shawn's face was grim as he held a baseball bat out to his best friend.

"Uh…" Gus spoke hesitantly into the phone. "Can I call you back?...no, a raving lunatic just walked into the office…yeah. Half-hour. Right. I'll be there."

He clicked the phone shut and stood up, staring at Shawn disbelievingly.

"_What?_" He asked.

"Hit me, Gus!" Shawn said again, trying to hand him the bat, but Gus pushed it away.

"Why?"

"I don't know what else to do!" Shawn groaned, collapsing helplessly onto the couch. "Maybe a good smack upside the head will turn my brain back on! It sure as hell turned it off!"

Gus gently took the bat away from his clearly insane best friend and laid it on the desk.

"Shawn, I'm not going to hit you in the head with a baseball bat." He said firmly.

"I thought you might say that."

Shawn stood up and stepped out into the hallway, appearing again a moment later with a green sport bag slung over his shoulder. He unzipped it and reached inside, pulling out a golf club.

"If you'd prefer," he continued, handing the club to Gus. "You can use this driver."

"Actually, that's a pitching wedge." Gus corrected him, laying it next to the baseball bat on the desk. "And I'm not going to hit you in the head with that, either."

"Gus! It works on amnesia victims all the time in the movies!"

"You don't have amnesia, Shawn. And this isn't a movie."

"No kidding." Shawn muttered, rooting through the bag again. "Okay, I have one more idea…"

He pulled out a set of jumper cables and tossed them on the desk alongside the bat and the golf club.

"Jumper cables?" He asked lightly.

"Shawn!" Gus gasped, quickly yanking them away from him before Shawn could hurt himself.

"What?" Shawn blinked innocently.

"Are you _insane?_"

"Quite possibly. Is that a no on the jumper cables, then?"

"Yes, Shawn." Gus rolled his eyes. "That's a no on the jumper cables. I am _not_ going to electrocute you."

"What if I told you that I'm the one who dented the Echo?"

Gus looked up, his eyes flashing angrily.

"That was _you_?"

"I may have bumped it with my bike…" Shawn admitted, casually sliding the bat across the desk towards him. "Will you hit me now?"

"No!" Gus shouted, throwing it across the room. It struck the wall with a resounding _thud_, leaving a good-sized dent.

"Then what's _your_ plan?" Shawn demanded, dropping the now empty bag on the floor

"I don't have one!" Gus replied, still somewhat yelling. "But if I did, it wouldn't involve murdering my best friend with a baseball bat or jumper cables!"

"What about a pitching wedge?" Shawn asked hopefully, sitting back down on the couch.

"No pitching wedge!"

Gus pushed the chair back from the desk and joined his friend on the couch. Shawn was resting his head miserably on wall behind him.

"I don't know what to do, Gus." He moaned.

"Give it time, Shawn. It's only been a few days."

"I don't want to give it time!" Shawn snapped, standing up again. "I don't want to give it any damn time!"

"I know."

"I shouldn't have to!"

"I know."

Shawn was pacing the room now, his jittery hands alternating between being jammed in his pockets and running through his hair.

"It should be easy…" he murmured, talking to himself more than Gus. "It should be easy…"

"But it's always been easy." Gus said quietly.

Shawn stopped pacing.

He looked over at Gus, his eyebrows raised.

"What?"

"It's always been easy, Shawn." He said again, quieter this time. "The psychic detective thing…it's always been easy for you. But this time, there's not going to be an easy solution. So, maybe it's time for you to figure out how much you really want it. Is it worth sticking with even though it's harder now, or are you just going to walk away because it's not the easiest option anymore?"

Shawn was speechless.

He blinked slowly, letting the words sink in.

Gus' eyes were looking into his, waiting patiently for an answer.

At first, Shawn didn't have one.

Gus was right. It wasn't easy anymore. Should he just walk away and find something simpler? Something that didn't require brains….something that didn't require thinking and reasoning and photographic memory…after all, he might never have those things again…

"Well?" Gus pressed after a full five minutes of silence.

Shawn smiled palely.

He knew he wasn't going anywhere.

"Do you want to go check out Bensen's with me?" He asked. "We have to figure out how this guy could afford a Rolex."

"Sure," Gus grinned back, standing up and grabbing his jacket. "I'll meet you there in an hour. There's something I have to do first."

"What?" Shawn asked, following him to the door.

Gus just shrugged.

"Don't worry about it."

Shawn froze, gasping in feigned horror as Gus walked out the door ahead of him without any further explanation.

"Gus!" He called after him. "Do you have a secret best friend? Is that what this is about? Are you partners with another psychic detective on the side? Does he have better hair than me? He does, doesn't he?! Gus!"


	5. Chapter 5

Gus was nervous as he entered the coffee shop.

In his entire life, Henry Spencer had only called him a handful of times, usually when he was pissed-off and looking for Shawn. It was never fun fielding calls from an irate cop who was well-versed in suspect interrogation techniques, especially when Gus knew where Shawn was but was honor-bound by the Best Friend Code not to tell his father. Generally, these calls ended either with Gus breaking down and finally telling him everything he knew, or with Henry muttering some obscenity under his breath and just hanging up. But none of them had ever ended with Henry asking Gus to meet him for coffee…and they'd certainly never ended with Henry asking Gus to not tell Shawn about that meeting.

That is, until today…

Gus spotted him at a table across the coffee shop. He gave an awkward half-wave when Henry saw him, but quickly dropped his hands by his side again when the gesture went unreturned.

"Hi, Mr. Spencer," he greeted uneasily, sliding into the chair across from him.

"Gus, you're thirty years old." Henry chided lightly, taking a long sip of his coffee. "I've known you pretty much as long as I've known Shawn. You can probably drop the 'Mr. Spencer' and just call me Henry by now."

"Yeah…I don't think so." Gus stammered, surprised it had been suggested at all.

"Okay…" Henry shook his head in amusement as he put the mug down again.

Gus could already tell that something was weighing on Henry's mind. His eyes were shifting restlessly from the sugar on the table to the front counter to the window, but he wouldn't look directly at Gus.

"So, what's up?" Gus asked finally, after waiting a few minutes for Henry to initiate the conversation.

Henry sighed, absently turning the sugar dispenser over in his fingers.

"It's about Shawn…" he began slowly, as if drawing each individual word out of a deep well.

"What about him?"

"He's…" Henry hesitated, placing the sugar back on the table and wiping his fingers off on his pants.

"He's _what" _

Gus was beginning to get exasperated with this game of read-between-the-lines-except-I-won't-even-give-you-the-lines.

"He's bad off, Gus." Henry whispered finally.

"I know."

"No. I mean, it's worse than I thought. It's been four days. It should be coming back by now. Maybe not the photographic memory…maybe not that…but he's not even _thinking_ clearly, Gus. He can't even see what's right in front of his face. It's like…he's not even there."

"I know."

Henry gently spun his mug, scraping it against the cheap Formica tabletop, but still not meeting Gus' eyes.

"But why did you call me?" Gus pressed on when it became clear Henry wasn't going to offer anything else voluntarily. "You didn't need to ask me to get coffee so you could tell me Shawn's bad off. He's my best friend. I figured that one out already."

"I know."

"Then why am I here?"

Henry quietly pulled a neatly-folded piece of white-lined paper out of his pocket and slid it across the table.

For a moment, he didn't release it, as if it was a precious document it pained him to part with. But when Gus reached over to take it, he finally lifted his fingers and let it go.

"What is it?" Gus asked, unfolding it and quickly skimming it over.

"Everything I could get about the case from the files Shawn dumped all over my floor last night. It's not a lot, but it should get him where he needs to go."

"But why are you giving it to me?" Gus wanted to know as he folded it up again and dropped it into his breast pocket.

"Because feeding Shawn the answers isn't going to help him." Henry asserted quietly. "The only way he's going to get his reasoning back is if he's forced to think through this case, step-by-step, on his own. Like when he was a kid. I can't help him this time. He has to do it on his own."

"Then what am _I_ supposed to do?"

"Just point him in the right direction. Ask the right questions. But he has to do it on his own. It's the only way…to get him back."

Gus nodded slowly, standing up to leave.

"I can do that."

"Gus--" Henry added hesitantly.

Gus turned back around.

"What?"

"There's more to this case than he realizes. There has to be. Don't let him do anything stupid."

Gus just laughed.

"I can't stop Shawn from doing stupid things. No one can."

"I mean it, Gus." Henry said seriously, not even cracking a smile. "Don't let him get himself killed."

Gus' grin faded when he saw the concern in Henry's eyes.

"I won't." He promised.

Henry nodded, standing up and walking with Gus to the door. They stood in the parking lot for a moment, side-by-side but completely silent.

"Well, I have to meet Shawn at Bensen's." Gus mumbled finally, checking his watch.

"Okay."

"I'll see you around, Mr. Spencer."

"Gus—"

"Huh?"

Henry hesitated again. There was something he wanted to ask, Gus could tell…but the words weren't coming out.

"What is it?" Gus pressed.

"Has he said anything? About the accident?" Henry asked finally.

"Just that he fell off the roof." Gus shrugged, looking confused. "But you were there, weren't you?"

"Yeah."

"Then you know what happened."

"Yeah. I know."

"Then why--"

"Forget it, Gus."

Henry got in his truck and pulled away, leaving Gus standing alone.

"What was that all about…?" Gus mumbled to himself.


	6. Chapter 6

_Four days ago…_

"Shawn! What the _hell_ are you doing?" Henry yelled from the ground up at his son, who was perched precariously on the edge of the roof as he dug around in the gutters.

"What?" Shawn yelled back down, tossing a handful of leaves and sticks over the ledge, only missing his father by a couple of inches.

"Heads up!" He grinned, watching gleefully as his father stepped aside just in time to avoid the shower.

"Knock it off!" Henry growled. "And get off the roof! If you step wrong, you're going to crack my shingles!"

"But it's so much faster this way!" Shawn argued, adjusting his work gloves lazily. "I don't have to keep moving that stupid, old crappy ladder!"

But Henry was already scaling that stupid, old crappy ladder. He joined his son on the roof, examining the gutters with a critical eye.

"Shawn!" He chided, gesturing adamantly at them. "You're not even getting it all! Look at all the crap you left in there!"

"Well, damn, Dad!" Shawn muttered resentfully. "I didn't know you were planning on _eating_ out of the stupid things."

Henry glared at him, and Shawn could already sense the impending lecture. But it was too late to stop it now…

"If you're going to do it, Kid, at least do it right."

"Okay…how about I just don't do it, then?" Shawn grumbled.

"How about the next time you ask for help on one of your little cases, I just laugh?" Henry shot back.

"Fine, fine." Shawn groaned, rolling his eyes all the way back into his head. "This is going to take all day!"

"If you do it right, it will." Henry agreed, standing up and preparing to go back down the ladder.

"Were you going to help at all?" Shawn demanded, stopping his father in his tracks. "Or were you just going to criticize _my_ efforts?"

Before Henry could answer, Shawn tossed him a pair of work gloves that had been jammed into his back pocket. Henry slipped them on with a sigh.

"Fine, Kid," he mumbled. "If you _need _your old man to help you…"

"I don't _need_ you to do anything." Shawn clarified shortly. "But I have plans tonight and I want to get the hell out of here!"

"Then shut up and get to work."

"Fine."

For a few minutes they worked silently, each grabbing handfuls of leaves and sticks out of the gutter and heaving them onto the ground below. Shawn glanced over after a while, wondering vaguely if his father was as bored out of his mind as he was.

_Probably not…_he realized dully.

_He loves this boring crap…_

He stopped working and watched Henry, who did appear to be completely absorbed in the task without a trace of boredom or regret. He laughed to himself and opened his mouth to say something mocking, but stopped when Henry's face suddenly changed. His brow was furrowed in apparent confusion as he pulled out a clump of wet leaves and dumped it on the roof next to him.

"What are you _doing_?" Shawn asked in horror as Henry began to sift intently through the muck.

"There's something in here…" Henry mumbled. "I felt it."

"Yeah. I think it's called mulch, Dad." Shawn rolled his eyes. Henry ignored him.

Finally, after several minutes longer than seemed a reasonable amount of time to spend playing in mud, he found what he was looking for.

"Shawn," he growled, holding up a filthy, soaking wet glob of something. "What the hell is _this?_"

Shawn squinted at the object his father was brandishing, but it just looked like debris to him.

"I have no idea," he shrugged.

"Try again." Henry snapped, flinging it at him. Shawn caught it with one hand and looked it over closer.

"Oh!" He grinned in recognition, wiping the layers of grime away. "It's that Transformers wristwatch you got me for my birthday when I was, like, nine."

"You were _ten_." Henry corrected him bitterly, his eyes narrowing. "_And_ you told me it got stolen out of your locker!"

"Uh--" Shawn stammered, his grin vanishing as he suddenly realized he was about to be lectured for a crime he'd committed two decades ago.

"What the _hell_ is a watch that got stolen out of your locker doing in the gutter, Shawn?" Henry demanded, taking his gloves off and throwing them angrily down on the roof.

"First of all," Shawn countered, thinking quickly as he stood up. "You can't _prove _that's my watch."

"Don't give me that!" Henry shouted. "It's your damn watch! Why is it on the roof?"

"Uh--"

"The _truth_, Shawn!"

Shawn sighed, knowing he was defeated.

"Okay, okay." He groaned. "It didn't get stolen."

"No kidding!"

"I fell off my bike doing a wheelie and smashed the face. I didn't want to tell you, so I said it got stolen out of my locker."

"…and the roof?" Henry pressed, still not satisfied.

"Well, I couldn't keep it in my room or throw it away!" Shawn pointed out. "You would've found it! I didn't know what else to do with it…so I tossed it up here."

"Shawn!" Henry yelled, standing up. "I called the principal about that damn watch!"

"I know…."

"I had him search lockers!"  
"I know…"

"And you _let _me?"

"I _tried_ to stop you!" Shawn hollered back, just as mad as Henry now. "It's not _my_ fault you're a stubborn old—"

"Watch it, Kid!"

Shawn spun around on his heel, taking off his gloves and heading for the ladder.

"You know what, Dad?" He snapped. "It was twenty years ago. I was a kid! I made a mistake. Get over it!"

"No!"

Henry took an angry step towards his son, forgetting about the wet leaves he'd left on the roof.

His foot flew out from underneath him as he stepped on the slippery patch. He fell, his arm instinctively reaching out as he went down. He hit the roof hard, his hand grabbing Shawn's sleeve just as he reached the ladder. Henry somehow managed to brace himself against the gutter as he rolled towards the edge, mere inches away from tumbling over the side.

But Shawn wasn't so lucky…

He already had one foot on the rickety ladder, and when his father knocked into him it was more than his already-compromised balance could handle. The ladder pitched to the side, and Shawn started to fall.

"Shawn!"

Henry was back on his feet again in a flash, grabbing for Shawn's arm to steady him, but it was too late.

Shawn didn't make a sound as he fell through the air and hit the ground, his head bouncing off the soft earth with a sickening _thud_.

Henry stared down from the roof in horror, for one brief, terrifying moment certain his son was dead.


	7. Chapter 7

_"…First of all…you can't prove it's my watch..."_

As Shawn stared at the watches through the jewelry store display window while waiting for Gus to show up, he was suddenly overcome by a brief, powerful memory. Intense images flashed through his mind at lightening speed, blurry and seemingly disconnected.

But it was definitely a memory…

A fight…

Something about a watch…like the watches in the window…like the watch the victim was wearing…except, different…

_..."Don't give me that…it's your damn watch…"_

He closed his eyes, trying to cling to the memory as long as possible…trying to figure out what it was he was even remembering…but it was gone as quickly as it had come.

_"…And you let me?_..._"_

_…Who the hell said that?_

_…Did anyone say it? Was it a movie…?_

He opened his eyes again, the memory dissipating like a vapor.

The familiar blue Echo pulled into the driveway. By the time Gus got out and started walking over to Shawn, he barely even remembered having a memory at all, much less what it was about.

Gus sidled up beside him, silently staring at the watches in the window alongside his friend, apparently trying to see whatever it was Shawn was seeing.

"What are we looking at?" He asked finally. "A clue?"

"No," Shawn shook his head with a sad smile. "No clues here."

"Then let's go in." Gus urged. "Maybe we'll find some there."

"Okay."

Shawn followed Gus to the door, casting a quick glance behind him at the Echo in the parking lot.

"That's a nasty-looking dent…" he commented suggestively.

"Forget it, Shawn." Gus told him over his shoulder. "I'm still not going to hit you in the head with a baseball bat."

"I'm just saying…if someone did that to _my _car…"

"Shawn!"

The bell over the door jingled as Gus pushed the door open and stepped inside. He walked casually over the central display case, suddenly very interested in whatever was over there.

Shawn was a few steps behind him, also seemingly enthralled by the rows of rings, watches and necklaces.

"Dude…" he whispered discreetly. "What was the guy's name?"

"What guy?" Gus whispered back.

"The _guy_. The victim."

"You don't remember?"

"Gus…"

"Right. Sorry. Mackay. Tom Mackay."

"Right."

The clerk was walking over towards them now, smiling broadly.

"Good afternoon," he greeted.

"Hi," Shawn smiled back, suddenly friendly and borderline bubbly.

"Can I help you find anything today?"

"Actually, yes." Shawn replied, scanning the watch display case carefully. "My friend bought a watch here a while ago...a Rolex. I was hoping to get one like it. He said you're the only jewelry store in Santa Barbara that carries this particular model…"

"I see. Well, we have several models that are exclusive to our store. Do you remember which one it was?"

He gestured down at the cases. Shawn pointed to one in the back corner.

"That one, I think."

Gus cleared his throat quietly. Shawn glanced up.

"Shawn," Gus whispered hesitantly, almost embarrassedly. "It wasn't that one."

"Are you sure?" Shawn asked, his brow furrowing. "I thought it was that one."

Gus shook his head.

"No, it was that one." He told him, pointing at the watch the victim had been wearing.

"I don't think so…"

Gus looked at him quizzically.

What was he doing?

"Shawn, trust me."

"Look," Shawn turned to the clerk. "Maybe you can help us out. Gus here can't remember which watch our friend bought. Could you check the sales records and settle this?"

"Sure," the clerk shrugged. "I think I could manage that. What was the name?"

"Mackay. Tom Mackay."

"I'll be right back."

The clerk went behind the counter to the computer and began to search the database.

Gus looked over at Shawn, who was grinning from ear to ear.

"Did you really remember which watch it was?" Gus asked hopefully. "Was that part of your plan to get information?"

Shawn shook his head.

"I didn't have a damn clue. I'm surprised I could remember it was a Rolex. But it worked, didn't it?"

The clerk returned a moment later, looking confused and apologetic.

"I'm sorry…I don't have a record of anyone by that name purchasing anything at this store."

Shawn and Gus exchanged puzzled glances.

"Maybe he didn't use a credit card…" Gus mumbled.

"We keep a record of all sales," the clerk told him, shaking his head slowly. "For insurance purposes. Even if the customer pays cash, we make sure to get names and addresses. I'm sorry, but you're friend didn't buy that watch here."

* * *

"_Think_, Shawn." Henry said for the thousandth time.

Shawn was at the kitchen table again, staring down at a notebook full of notes he had written, with Gus' help, the second he'd walked out of the jewelry store.

He'd read them over at least a dozen times since then, but he still couldn't make heads or tails of them.

"I'm trying!" Shawn snapped.

"There are only two options here, Kid." Henry told him, taking the notebook and giving it a cursory glance.

"What are they?"

"You can figure it out."

"Dad!"

"Shawn," Henry growled. "You can do this. Look at your notes. _Think_."

Shawn groaned, taking the notebook back from his father.

"Tell me what you know." Henry prompted, sitting back in his seat.

"Tom Mackay didn't buy his watch at Bensen's."

"How do you know that?"

"The clerk told me." Shawn muttered.

"You can do better than that."

"His name wasn't in the system," Shawn sighed, his head aching with the exertion.

"Stop right there."

"What?"

"Does his name not being in the system mean he didn't buy the watch there?" Henry asked.

Shawn nodded slowly.

"Yeah…"

"Why?"

"Because."

"_Because_ is not an answer, Shawn."

"Then I don't know!"

"Yes, you do!"

Shawn pushed back from the table, clawing at his hair in frustration.

"Dad! I don't know!"

"Shawn, this is just common sense. Why wouldn't your victim be in the system?"

"Because…" Shawn's eyes were closed again as his brain chugged away sluggishly.

Suddenly, they popped open again.

"Because he didn't buy it at that store."

Henry grinned.

Finally, there was _something _behind his son's eyes…a determination to get this right.

"But it's the only store in Santa Barbara that sells them." Henry reminded him.

Shawn nodded slowly.

"What if he bought it somewhere else…?"

"It's possible…" Henry conceded. "Worth looking into. But what if he _did_ buy it there?"

"He couldn't have!" Shawn insisted.

"Why not?"

"Because he would be in the system! The clerk said they're always in the system! Unless he used a fake name or something!"

Shawn dropped the notebook, stunned by his own revelation.

"Dad!" He blinked in surprise. "What if he used a fake name?"

Henry was smiling now.

"Also possible. Do they require I.D. at the jewelery store?"

"I don't know."

"Find out."

Shawn quickly flipped a page in the pad and jotted a note to himself so he wouldn't forget. Henry glanced at it.

"What's that?" He asked, pointing to another note Shawn had written.

It said: _You can't prove it's my watch._

"Just something I'm trying to remember…" Shawn shrugged. "I kept thinking it today when I was looking at the watches in the store window…but I don't remember where I heard it or what it means. It must be from a movie or something…"

The blood had drained from Henry's face, but Shawn didn't notice as he looked up at his father.

"Do you know what it means?" He asked.

Henry shook his head stiffly.

"No."


	8. Chapter 8

"Shawn…what the heck is all _this?" _Gus gasped, stepping in the Psych office.

Shawn was standing in front of the wall, every last inch of which was plastered with crime scene photos and hundreds of pink, green, blue and yellow Post-Its with random words and phrases scribbled across them.

"This…" Shawn answered, stepping back to survey his work. "…Is my brain. On the wall."

"Your _brain?_"

"Well, it's not a _perfect_ representation…my actual brain is squishier. And less plastered on the wall. But it's as close as I can get it."

"Right…" Gus mumbled, beginning to read what Shawn had scrawled on the colorful paper squares. He quickly realized that the Post-Its contained little factoids that, when put together, revealed everything they had figured out about the case so far.

**Victim Tom Mackay** a bright green one stuck to a photo of the body declared, right next to one that asked **Suicide?**

**Watch Rolex **a pink one taped on the same photo reminded them.

But not all of the Post-Its contained facts, Gus noticed as his eyes continued to run over his friend's Rainbow Wall-Mind.

**How could the victim afford a Rolex? **a blue square pinned to a photo of the bare apartment demanded, and another asked **Where did he get that damn watch? **

This question was underlined three times for emphasis, and it seemed to be the one that Shawn was staring at most intently at the moment.

"How long did this take you?" Gus asked, shaking his head in amazement.

"All night," Shawn shrugged. "It's everything from the notebook and the files…everything that _should_ be in my head…I figured if it was on the wall, at least I could _see_ it all in one place."

"Is it working?"

"Well, it sure makes the office brighter…" Shawn sighed, running his hand over his head as he continued to stare at the **Where did he get that damn watch? **Post-It.

Gus stared at it, too, thinking quietly to himself.

"So, he definitely didn't get it at Bensen's?" He asked finally.

Shawn shook his head.

"I don't think so. I don't know, Gus…but why would he use a fake name to buy a watch? Unless I'm missing something…"

He glanced at his friend out of the corner of his eye, almost questioningly.

"I don't know. What other options are there?" Gus asked.

Shawn gestured to a pink paper square on the wall that answered the question.

"That he got it somewhere else…somewhere outside Santa Barbara…"

"Is it really _that _important to the case where he got it? Does it affect whether or not he committed suicide?"

"I don't know!" Shawn snapped testily. "It started out just as our only lead…but now that we can't trace it…"

Gus suddenly tapped his breast pocket, which still held the paper Henry had given him.

He'd read it over a few times, and something on it was starting to come back to him…

**Victim probably pawned most of his stuff. The apartment's bare, and there's a pawn shop ticket on the counter in one of the crime scene photos. **

He looked over the pictures of the apartment. Sure enough, in one of them, right on the corner of the counter, was a pawn shop ticket.

_Is it possible…?_ Gus wondered, finally deciding it was worth a shot.

"Hey, Shawn…" he asked, clearing his throat casually. "What's that?"

"What's what?"

Gus tapped the photo.

"On the counter there…what's that?"

Shawn peered at the small object, then shrugged impassively.

"Looks like a pawn shop ticket. Why?"  
"No reason…"

Gus held his breath, watching Shawn's face intently, hoping to see the lights come on…but nothing happened.

Not even a flicker.

He sighed, resisting the impulse to just tell Shawn his idea as he remembered Henry's admonition that Shawn had to do it on his own…

"Didn't you used to work at a pawn shop?" He pressed on, hoping that if he could keep Shawn talking about them, he'd eventually come up with the idea on his own.

"Yeah." Shawn mumbled, still absorbed in the Post-Its. "For, like, a week or something. I was there all the time, anyway, pawning my stuff…well, mostly my stuff…sometimes my dad's stuff…"

"How does it work?"

"How does what work?"

"Pawning something."

Shawn raised a suspicious eyebrow at Gus, who was rocking on his heels anxiously.

"Why?"

"No reason…"

"You bring something in," Shawn told him, finally just shrugging and deciding to humor his friend. "They appraise it, write down the serial numbers and stuff, and give you some money and a ticket that tells you how much you have to pay them in thirty days to get it back. If you don't pay, you don't get it back and they sell it."

"How do they know it's not stolen or something?"

"The serial numbers, for one. And they have to file a list of everything they bought with the police everyday. If they have something they didn't tell the cops about and it turns out it's stolen, they get charged with Receiving Stolen Goods."

"Oh."

"Why?" Shawn asked, grinning. "Are you going to pawn something? It's not the Airwolf windbreaker, is it?"

"Please!" Gus snorted. "Like I'd ever pawn _that!_"

"Just checking."

Shawn went back to gazing at the colorful wall, apparently done with the conversation.

Gus groaned, trying desperately to think of some way to keep Shawn talking about pawn shops…

"They just seem like a good place to buy something." He said pointedly.

Shawn blinked, slowly turning to face his friend.

_Come on…_Gus urged silently.

_Come on… _

"Sure…" Shawn said, almost bitterly. "If you don't mind buying stuff after people can't scrape up enough money to get it out of hock."

"Does that happen?"

"It wasn't my fault!" Shawn shouted, reliving some day long since past. "I couldn't get the money! Stupid TV."

"Wait…was that _my _TV?" Gus demanded. "The one you said you took to the repair shop and they broke it?"

"Uh…"

"Shawn!"

"Well…I'm sure it's broken by _now_…"

Gus punched him in the arm.

"You owe me a TV!"

"You _have_ a TV!" Shawn argued.

"Shawn!"

"Fine, fine." Shawn rolled his eyes. "I'll buy you a TV…"

He rubbed his arm thoughtfully.

"Hey, Gus…" he said slowly, staring at the picture of the pawn shop ticket.

"What?" Gus muttered, still mad about his TV.

"…What did you say before? About pawn shops being a good place to buy stuff?"

"I said that pawn shops are a good place to buy stuff." Gus snapped, his plan to get Shawn to realize Mackay might have bought his watch a pawn shop completely forgotten in his rage.

"Yeah…that…"

Gus watched the wheels in Shawn's head slowly beginning to turn.

"You don't think…" Shawn murmured, his eyes narrowing in concentration.

"What?"

"I don't know…"

For a few excruciating minutes, Shawn stood silently, staring at the wall, his brain trying to make the connection…

Finally, a grin broke out across his face.

"I think… we might be looking for a pawn shop, Gus."


	9. Chapter 9

"This has to be it, Gus." Shawn declared, coming to a stop on the sidewalk outside a rundown storefront. A broken neon sign above the spider-webbed glass door flickered **Paw Sh p.**

"Are you sure?" Gus asked hesitantly, surveying his surroundings with a rapidly-growing sense of doom.

"No," Shawn admitted breezily. "But it's the only pawn shop in walking distance of the victim's apartment."

"How do you know that?"

"Mapquest," Shawn shrugged, opening the door and stepping inside.

The dingy, poorly-lit front room didn't make Gus feel any better about the situation as they began to browse the broken-down looking merchandise. He was especially uneasy because the large, tattooed man behind the counter was glaring at him like he'd just insulted his mother.

Gus tried to ignore the clerk and play it cool as he looked around the shop, but he could feel the fierce, burning eyes following his every move…like a lion stalking its prey.

"I don't think this is the place, Shawn." He murmured quietly after a minute or two of pointless perusing.

"Why not?" Shawn asked.

"Look around! All they have are old DVD players and stereos and stuff. There isn't a single watch or piece of jewelry or anything valuable in the entire store!"

"Oh." Shawn blinked, gazing around as if for the first time. "I guess you're right."

"Then let's get out of here!"

Gus started to bolt for the door, eager to leave before the apparently pissed-off clerk decided to attack him; but Shawn lingered behind. He picked up an old stereo speaker as if he might actually buy it, the thought of leaving apparently never even crossing his mind.

Gus sighed and turned back around.

"What's the plan?" He asked quietly. "Were you going to ask the scary dude some questions or something?"

"No," Shawn shrugged, putting the speaker back down.

"Then why are we still here?"

"Because we've only been here for ten seconds. What's the rush?"

"But there's nothing here!"

"Sure there is." Shawn returned, jerking his head in the direction of a group of four teenagers who had just entered a few moments ago and were now loitering in the corner of the shop. They each had dyed, spiked hair and iPods blasting in their ears. They also didn't seem to have any interest in actually buying or selling anything. They were just leaning against the wall, watching Shawn and Gus and looking bored with life.

"_Them?_" Gus muttered, perplexed. "What about them?"

"Don't you think there's something…weird…about those kids?"

"You mean besides the dangerous, neon hair?" Gus snorted.

"Yeah. Besides that."

"I dunno," Gus shrugged, absently picking up a digital camera and pretending he was enthralled by it.

"Well, there is." Shawn insisted, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "I know there's _something_ off…I just can't see what…"

Gus glanced over at him, and for a moment he thought he saw a flash of the old Shawn…a flash of that deeper comprehension that always baffled him…

But only for a moment.

Then it was gone.

Gus sighed disappointedly and put the camera down again. Shawn suddenly grinned, an idea occurring to him as he looked down at it. He slowly reached into his back pocket and pulled out his cell phone, snapping it open and bringing it up to his ear.

"Hello?" He spoke into it, pretending to have a conversation with some non-existent person on the other end.

"What are you--?" Gus started to ask, but stopped when he heard the camera phone click.

"Maybe I'll see it better on my wall brain." Shawn whispered back, covering the mouthpiece as if he didn't want the person on the other end to hear him. "I'm going to forget what this place looks like the second we leave, anyway. This might help."

He turned his body so that the camera was aimed at the group of teenagers in the corner, still talking to himself.

"Listen…" he continued loudly. "I'm telling you. Gus is _not _a woman trapped in man's body."

The camera clicked again as Shawn snapped the picture.

"Don't use _me_ in your little fake conversation!" Gus hissed.

"Relax." Shawn shrugged. "They're not listening. And they don't know you're Gus."

Shawn covered his other ear with his hand and turned again so he had a different angle of the store. The camera continued to click away as he kept talking to no one.

"Just because he occasionally wears fishnet stockings and high heels…" he said, way too loudly for Gus' comfort.

"Knock it off!"

But, of course, Shawn didn't knock it off.

"…Now, now. I'm sure they're around somewhere…did you check his underwear drawer?"

"I'm going to kill you!"

Shawn took the last picture and shut the phone again, grinning maniacally as he slipped it back into his pocket.

"The baseball bat is still in the car…" he reminded his friend suggestively.

"Shut up." Gus grumped.

"…Or the jumper cables! Your choice!"

* * *

"Shawn, we didn't learn anything!" Gus argued, collapsing onto the couch.

Shawn grabbed the last picture off the printer and taped it to the wall, then stood back and surveyed the now vastly expanded wall brain.

"Sure we did." He insisted. "We learned that you like fishnets and high heels…not a good look for you, by the way."

Gus glared at him as he stood up again and joined his friend at the wall.

"Your phone takes crappy pictures." He muttered. "They're all blurry and pixilated. You can barely even tell what they are!"

"Don't be a Bitter Bitty, Gus." Shawn chided, writing **Weird kids **on a bright orange Post-It and pinning it to the picture of the teenagers. "And you never attack a man's camera phone. That's just mean."

He stared intently at the new pictures and the **Weird kid** Post-It, his eyes trying to take in every last detail.

"Shawn, what do they have to do with Tom Mackay?" Gus demanded. "Are we even _working_ on that case anymore?"

"Yes!" Shawn snapped, blinking as his concentration was broken.

"How?" Gus shouted, his frustration finally boiling over. "You're staring at a picture of four teenagers you've never met who are in a store Tom Mackay couldn't possibly have bought his watch from because they don't even sell watches! What does that have to do with _anything?_"

"I don't know…yet." Shawn replied quietly, straining to get his concentration back. Gus watched in helpless silence as his friend continued to squint at the photos.

"Shawn," he sighed finally. "Maybe there's nothing to this case. Maybe Tom Mackay just killed himself. Maybe I shouldn't have told you to keep going…"

"Maybe…" Shawn murmured, his eyes growing wide as a grin suddenly broke out over his face. "Or maybe there's more to this than we thought…"

"What are you talking about?"

"This!" Shawn ripped a new Post-It off the pad and emphatically smacked it onto the wall right next to the picture of the teenagers.

**Kid wearing giant Rolex way too big for him weird.**

Gus glanced at the picture again. Sure enough, one of the teens had a Rolex on. It was a different model than the one Mackay had been wearing…but it was still one expensive watch. And it was hanging off his narrow wrist, like the band was two or three sizes too big.

"That's what was bothering me!" Shawn exclaimed. "I just couldn't put my finger on it! But tell me it's not just a little weird for a teenager to have an expensive watch that doesn't even fit!"

"No," Gus shook his head slowly, his eyes as wide as Shawn's. "That's definitely weird…"

"So we're still on the case, right?"

"Oh, yeah."


	10. Chapter 10

"Oh, yeah."

Gus turned on his heel and headed for the door, but Shawn was suddenly frozen in place, staring fixedly at the wall-brain.

Gus turned back to see if was coming, but he could already tell Shawn was lost in his own mind.

_"…You can't prove that's my watch…"_

Shawn's eyes narrowed intensely as they darted back and forth between the picture of the teenager with the huge Rolex and the small, almost forgotten, Post-It in the top corner with the phrase **You Can't Prove That's My Watch **written across it.

_"…You can't prove that's my watch…"_

_Why does the picture of the kid with the watch remind me of that…?_

_What the hell does it mean…?_

"Uh…Shawn…" Gus spoke up from the door, almost hesitantly. "Are we going to work on the case?"

"Yeah…" Shawn mumbled, not peeling his eyes away from the wall-brain.

His own brain was on fire now as the memories struggled desperately to break through the fog…but they couldn't.

They just couldn't.

_"…You can't prove that's my watch…"_

_What the hell does that have to do with the kid and the watch?  
…Did a kid say that…?_

_No!_

His eyes widened as a sudden memory clobbered him like a blow to the head.

_No!_

_A kid didn't say that…I did!_

_…But when…?_

"Okay…" Gus continued, growing somewhat impatient. "We actually have a lead now…shouldn't we follow-up on it?"

"We will, Gus." Shawn waved him off, clenching his eyes shut in concentration.

He couldn't think about the case right now.

Right now this memory seemed to be all that mattered, though he wasn't even sure why.

_"…You can't prove that's my watch…"_

_What watch?_

_I don't even own a watch…_

_I haven't owned a watch since I was a kid…_

_...a kid...__  
_

His eyes snapped open again, falling on the picture of the teenager one more time.

_"…I was, like, nine…"_

_"…You were ten…"_

"Shawn!" Gus snapped. "Let's go!"

"Okay…" Shawn agreed, blinking out of his trance. "But we have to stop by my dad's first."

"Your dad's? Why?"

"Because…I think he tried to kill me."


	11. Chapter 11

Shawn left Gus, dumbfounded and speechless, at the Psych office and went to see his father.

Henry was in the garden when Shawn pulled up on his motorcycle. When he saw his son coming towards him, his helmet dangling precariously from his curled fingers, he stood up and wiped his hands on his jeans.

He could already tell Shawn was pissed about something.

"Shawn? What--"

But Shawn didn't even let him finish his thought.

"You pushed me off the roof?!" He shouted, gesturing angrily with the helmet.

At first, Henry was too taken aback to be sure if it was a question or an accusation.

"What?" He asked weakly.

There was nothing else he could say.

"You heard me! You pushed me off the damn roof!"

This time, there wasn't any question about it. Shawn was accusing him.

He remembered.

Henry sighed and ran his hand thoughtfully over the back of his neck, leaving a dark streak of mud behind.

"I didn't push you off the roof," he said quietly.

"Yes, you did! I remember! You were yelling about that damn Transformers watch and then--"

"And then what, Shawn?"

Henry's eyes met his son's firmly.

He wasn't going to give an inch on this willingly.

"You know _damn_ well what!"

"But do _you_?" Henry challenged coolly. "Before you accuse me of something, Kid, you'd better make damn sure you know what the hell you're talking about. Do you remember what happened?"

"I remember enough!" Shawn snorted, dropping his helmet on the ground. "You were yelling about that damn Transformers watch!"

"…That you lied to me about…" Henry added pointedly.

"Twenty years ago!" Shawn shouted in exasperation, not sure how he had suddenly been put on the defensive.

"Not twenty years ago, Shawn." Henry corrected him. "_For_ twenty years. You lied to me about that watch for twenty years."

"So you pushed me off the roof?! You tried to _kill _me over a _watch?! _"

"I didn't try to kill you. I didn't push you off the roof."

"Yes, you did!"

Henry crossed his arms stubbornly, his voice calm though he was sure Shawn could see his heart pounding through his shirt.

"Shawn. If you can't remember what happened, you can't accuse me of anything. What happened after I found the watch?"

Shawn sighed loudly, rapidly losing patience with this game.

His father was wrong.

His father had tried to kill him.

Why couldn't he just admit it and move on?

"I don't know!" He snapped. "I didn't feel like listening to a five hour lecture, so I left!"

Henry nodded, slowly uncrossing his arms and letting them fall to his side.

"Then what?"

"Then you pushed me off the damn roof!"

"Shawn."

"I don't know! You--"

Shawn suddenly stopped as the final piece of the puzzle fell into place, his face softening ever so slightly.

"You fell first." He said quietly.

Henry looked down at his shoes, for the first time refusing to meet his son's gaze.

"Yeah."

"You didn't push me…it was an accident."

"Yeah."

"Then why the hell didn't you just tell me?!" Shawn shouted, suddenly angry again. "If it was just an accident, why would you lie?"

This time, Henry didn't have an answer.

He stared blankly at the ground, almost hoping Shawn would retract the question.

But, of course, he didn't.

The question hung in the air for several minutes, neither Spencer man moving or even breathing.

"Well?" Shawn pressed finally. "Why the hell did you lie if it was just accident?"

"Because." Henry said quietly, finally looking up. "It was my fault."


	12. Chapter 12

"What?"

Shawn nearly keeled over in shock.

Had his father really just admitted something was his fault?

Henry scowled, his ears burning as he realized what he had just said.

"What'd you want me to say, Kid?" He asked quietly. "'Oh, by the way…you know how your memory is shot and you can't think your way out of a paper bag?...That was me. I did that.'… Is that it? Is that what I was supposed to say?"

"Dad--"

"No. Tell me, Shawn. Would that have changed anything? Would it have made your memory come back any faster?"

"It would've been better than lying to me!" Shawn insisted without much conviction.

Even he wasn't sure that was true.

Henry sighed and went back to work in the garden, kneeling in the dirt as he yanked the weeds out one-by-one.

"Well, I didn't say it." He muttered.

"Yeah. I know."

Shawn watched silently as his father worked, doing anything he could to avoid having to look at his son. The weeds flew out of the ground almost violently as he ripped them out by their roots and threw them into a pile by Shawn's feet.

"It's coming back, Dad." Shawn said after a long moment.

Henry didn't respond, but his furious weeding pace suddenly slowed down a bit.

Shawn pressed on, certain his father was hearing every word even if he didn't show it.

"Not my memory…I still can't see anything when I close my eyes. But I'm starting to be able to think my way out of paper bags…You know, as long as the flap is open a bit…"

Henry glanced up, but still didn't say anything.

"I mean, all things considered…this isn't even the worst thing you've ever done to me," Shawn concluded with a sly grin, knowing his father wouldn't be able hold back any more.

As it turned out, he was right.

"What the hell does that mean?" Henry demanded hotly, standing up again.

"Oh, come on!" Shawn snorted. "You've done way worse than push me off a roof!"

"Like _what?_"

"Oh, I don't know…the forced camping, for one!" Shawn began to count off on his fingers. "Or how about the 3 AM fishing trips? Or constantly riding my ass about being a cop! Or that damn hat game!"

"Shawn—"

"Seriously, Dad. Did you really think a little conk on the head was going to push me over the edge and send me crawling to therapy or something? Give me some credit! If I could survive your blitzkrieg parenting, I think I can survive a little concussion."

Henry's eyes locked with his son's as he crossed his arms stubbornly.

"It's not _my_ fault you're a lousy camper." He growled.

"It's not _my_ fault you pushed me off a damn roof!" Shawn shot back, still grinning.

Henry's eyes narrowed. He turned on his heel and started to walk back to the house.

"Don't you have a paper bag to go think you way out of?" He muttered.

"Yeah." Shawn retorted, calling after him. "And I'm going to think my way out of it, too!"

He couldn't help it. As the screen door slammed shut behind his father, Shawn started to laugh, though he wasn't exactly sure why.

"At least, I hope I'm going to think my way out of it…" he added under his breath before hopping on his bike and driving off again.


	13. Chapter 13

Shawn strolled coolly back into the Psych office, acting for all the world like he hadn't left in a furious huff an hour ago. 

Gus was sitting behind the desk when he walked in. 

"Shawn!" He exclaimed, jumping up. "What the heck is going on?" 

"What do you mean?" Shawn asked, casually collapsing into an exhausted heap on the couch. 

"I mean you said your dad tried to kill you and then stormed out!" 

"Oh. That." Shawn shrugged. "No big deal. He just pushed me off the roof." 

"He _what?_" 

"Pushed me off the roof. And he wasn't even going to tell me. Can you believe that?" Shawn shook his head and clucked reprovingly, then added darkly. "…But I showed him." 

Gus' eyes grew wide. 

"What do you mean?" He asked quietly. 

Shawn grinned and stretched out on the couch, lacing his fingers behind his head. 

"I shot him, Gus." 

Gus scowled, finally realizing Shawn was just avoiding the subject. 

"Shut up." He growled. 

"No, really!" Shawn insisted. "I shot him! He had it coming…Wanna help me bury the body in the woods? I have an extra shovel." 

"Knock it off. You didn't shoot your dad." 

"I didn't?" Shawn blinked in feigned bewilderment. "Then whose blood's all over my leather jacket?...Incidentally, how do you get blood out of leather? Do I have to get it dry cleaned?" 

Gus rolled his eyes and sat back down at the desk. 

Clearly, Shawn just didn't want to talk about it. 

He went back to work, but his curiosity got the better of him a few minutes later. 

"Did he really push you off the roof?" He asked. 

Shawn was still lying on the couch with his arm draped over his forehead and his eyes closed. He opened one halfway at Gus' query. 

"Yeah," he murmured lazily, apparently not fazed in the least by this fact. 

"Oh." 

Gus looked down at the papers covering the desk, for once not having anything to say. 

"So, when do you start therapy?" He mumbled finally. 

Shawn laughed. 

"Gus, trust me. On the list of reasons I have to be in therapy, being pushed off a roof by my father doesn't even crack the top 15." 

"Then can we just get back to the case?" Gus demanded, dropping his pen on the desk and standing up again. 

Shawn groaned and deliberately forced himself to sit up. 

"My brain hurts." He grumbled, running his hand delicately over the back of his head. 

"Which one? Your real brain or your wall-brain?" 

"Both." 

Shawn stood up and squinted at the wall-brain, though he was certain he couldn't decipher any more from it than he already had. 

There just wasn't anything else…just patches of color and random, unhelpful phrases… 

Suddenly, he cocked his head to the side. 

"Gus…" he asked slowly. "Did you move my wall-brain around?" 

"Did I _what?_" 

"Did you mess with the wall-brain?" 

"No!" Gus sounded insulted. "Why would I?" 

Shawn didn't answer right away. He closed his eyes and waved his hand slowly over the wall, his forehead wrinkled in deep concentration. 

"Why?" Gus asked again a few minutes later. 

"Because something's different about it." 

He slowly reached up and pulled off the **WEIRD KIDS** Post-It. 

"This wasn't here before." He said, carefully moving it to the other side of the picture of the teenagers. "…It was here." 

"Oh, right." Gus nodded. "I forgot. It fell off while you were shooting your dad. I put it back up for you."

Shawn's eyes snapped open again.

Only then did Gus realize what had just happened.

"Did you see it?" He asked, coming alongside his friend. "Is your memory back?"

Shawn shook his head slowly.

"No…not exactly…everything's still blurry and jumbled…"

"But you saw _something?_"

"Yeah," Shawn nodded, a grin slowly spreading across his face. "I saw _something_…" 


	14. Chapter 14

_Good Lord, this chapter almost killed me! I have been AGONIZING over it for over a month now! Don't ask me why. I have the solution figured out, I just can't seem to get Shawn there...anyway, sorry for the wait. Hope this makes up for it! :-)_

"Do you see anything else?" Gus asked eagerly.

Shawn's eyes were closed again, his hand hovering over the wall-brain as if he could sense what was in the pictures and Post-Its through his fingertips.

"No…" he murmured. "I don't see anything…"

"Oh." Gus sounded almost disappointed.

Shawn opened his eyes, not seeming the least bit disheartened by his lack of vision.

"At least you saw _something…_" Gus added hastily.

Shawn shook his head, and for the first time since the accident Gus could see something lurking beneath his placid eyes…something like a small spark that was slowly being fanned into a full flame.

"No, Gus. I mean, I don't see _anything._ Look."

He stepped back from the wall-brain, gesturing at the blurry pictures from the pawn shop.

"There's no jewelry…no watches…no rings…nothing like that."

"I know." Gus nodded, not understanding where Shawn was going with this. "Don't you remember? I told you that when we were there. They must not sell that kind of stuff."

"That's the point, Gus! I don't know why I didn't see it before!"

"See _what?_"

"They _should_ have that kind of stuff!" Shawn explained quickly, the flame in his eyes growing hotter. "Jewelry is the first thing people pawn when they need fast cash. It's valuable, so it gets you a good price, and you usually won't miss it too much. It wouldn't be weird if they had that stuff…it's weird that they _don't!_"

"Okay…" Gus conceded. "So it's a little weird that a pawn shop doesn't have jewelry. So what?"

"So…" Shawn pulled the crime scene photo of Mackay in his watch and the picture of the teenager with the Rolex off the wall and placed them side-by-side on the desk. "Two people in the same poor, crappy neighborhood who both have connections to the same pawn shop _both_ happen to own Rolexes? I'm betting they didn't come from Wal-Mart. They had to have come from the pawn shop! It's the only possible place!"

"But the pawn shop doesn't _have_ watches!" Gus shouted in exasperation. "We just said that! It's weird, but they don't!"

"They have to, Gus. There's no other answer."

"Then where are they?" Gus demanded.

Shawn pulled the picture of the scary dude with tattoos off that wall and placed it on the desk alongside the picture of the teenager.

"Look…" he said, tapping the photo. "Behind the counter…the back room door is open."

"Back room?"

"All pawn shops have back rooms," Shawn explained quickly, the words flowing faster than they had in a long time. "They're just as big as the front room, if not bigger. It's where they keep the stuff that's in hock for the thirty days before they're allowed to sell it."

"So…there _might_ be watches back there?" Gus concluded, emphasizing the _might_ pointedly.

Shawn nodded.

"There might be…but even if there is, it doesn't answer the second question."

"What's that?" Gus asked, his stomach sinking as he realized the wheels in Shawn's head were spinning furiously now.

"What's a pawn shop in that poor, crappy neighborhood doing with Rolexes? Where did they come from?"

"Oh…."

Gus watched in horror as the familiar, devious grin slowly spread across Shawn's face.

_Oh, God…_he groaned inwardly, knowing he was about to somehow be thrown under a bus …

_He has a plan…_

* * *

"I'm not going in!" Gus snapped, folding his arms as Shawn pushed the glass door to the pawn shop open.

"Why not?" Shawn rolled his eyes, turning back around to face his friend as he dropped the door and let it close again.

"Because I don't feel like being murdered by a tattooed gorilla! You saw the way he was glaring at me last time! He was just looking for a reason to tear my head off! You don't need me, anyway." Gus insisted. "You're just going to go in and ask him if he has watches in the back room, right?"

"Right," Shawn agreed breezily. "But you know my brain isn't working right since the accident…you might pick up on something during the conversation that I miss. Come on, Gus! I need you!"

"Fine." Gus sighed, knowing it was futile to resist Shawn's pleas. "But I am _not _talking to that guy!"

"Fine. I'll do the talking."

Shawn opened the door and stepped in, pausing just inside as he glanced around at the half dozen or so customers who were perusing the shop. The group of teenagers from before wasn't there anymore, but the store was still pretty busy.

After a moment of surveying his surroundings, Shawn slowly started to make his way to the counter, behind which the large man was still standing. Gus was following close behind him.

About ten feet away from the counter, however, just as the man took his eyes off him for one second, Shawn suddenly reached out and knocked a digital camera off a shelf and onto the hard floor, shattering the lens.

"Gus!" He gasped loudly in feigned horror. "Look what you did!"  
"Me?!" Gus shouted, eyeing the man nervously. He had already come out from behind the counter and was marching over to them angrily.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" He growled, glaring at Gus as he quickly closed the distance between them.

"I--" Gus stammered nervously, his eyes darting back to Shawn.

"Stall him." Shawn whispered. "I have to get a look at the back room. Don't let him go back to the counter before I get out."

"Shawn!"

"Shh…" Shawn hushed him, flicking his head at the man, who had reached them now.

Shawn quietly ducked behind him, slipping unnoticed behind the counter and through the open back room door as the man started to yell at poor Gus.

"What the hell is your problem?" He bellowed, crossing his massive arms across his chest.

"Uh--"

Gus cleared his throat, trying desperately to think on his feet.

Every eye in the store was on him now.

_Okay…_he told himself, trying to stop his heart from pounding out of his chest…_there are witnesses…he can't kill me with witnesses…_

"It was an accident," he said quickly, picking the broken camera off the floor and dusting it off gingerly. "Look. Good as new."

He plopped it into the man's hand, praying he wasn't about to get socked.

The man stared down at it.

"Good as _new?_" He growled, his fingers curling around the far from good-as-new camera as he brandished it in Gus' face. "It's busted!"

"It's not busted." Gus argued weakly.

His mind was completely blank as he kept watching the rippling biceps straining against the man's tight shirt.

_Oh, God…_

_He's going to kill me…_

_He's going to beat me to death with a broken camera!_

_Stupid Shawn!_

"The lens is shattered!" The man was shouting now.

"No, it isn't."

"Look at it!"

"Where?" Gus demanded, taking the camera out of the man's hand and examining it himself, as if he couldn't tell there was anything even remotely wrong with it.

"You're paying for it!"

"But it's broken." Gus snorted, handing it back to him. "Why would I want to buy a broken camera?"

He glanced at the back room door, praying Shawn would come out soon before he had to push the man to actual homicide.

This time, his prayers were answered, as Shawn emerged from the back room, grinning from ear to ear as he watched the scene between Gus and the now red-faced man unfold.

"Are you _trying_ to piss me off?" The man scowled down at him.

"No." Gus said quickly, crossing over the counter once Shawn was safely out from behind it. "I'll pay for it."

"I can't believe you broke a camera, Gus." Shawn clucked, coming alongside his friend as the man went behind the counter again and rang up the purchase on the cash register.

"Yeah, well…" Gus muttered, glaring as he pulled out his wallet bitterly. "I may have broken it…but someone _else_ is going to pay!"

**Chapter End Notes:**

_A quick promise: I know a lot probably doesn't seem to make sense right now, but it should after the next two to three chapters. _

Previous


	15. Chapter 15

The car ride back to Psych was engulfed in a stony silence, as Gus was too furious to even speak. He just stared at the road ahead, gripping the steering wheel so tightly Shawn was sure there would be permanent grooves in the soft rubber.

"Oh, come on, Gus!" Shawn sighed finally, when it became apparent that the silent treatment wasn't going to end anytime soon. "You can't stay mad forever!"

"Yes, I can!" Gus shouted, finally turning his head so he could glare at his best friend.

"But I thought you _wanted_ a new camera!" Shawn argued.

"I didn't want a _broken _camera!" Gus shot back. "And I didn't want to be almost murdered by Big Foot!"

"You weren't almost murdered." Shawn rolled his eyes. "He wasn't going to kill you with all those witnesses around. Trust me."

"_Trust_ you?" Gus snorted, his eyes back on the road now. "You told me you were just going to talk to him! You didn't tell me you were going to sneak into the backroom, and you sure as heck didn't tell me that _I_ was going to be your little decoy!"

"Of course I didn't!" Shawn agreed, waving off Gus' ire with the easy confidence of someone who knew the storm would pass eventually. "You don't _tell _a decoy he's a decoy. That kind of negates the whole decoy ploy!"

"I am _not_ a decoy, Shawn! I'm supposed to be your best friend!"

"And you are!" Shawn assured him. "…But you're also a great decoy! Can I help it that you have a talent for improvisation and quick-thinking that I occasionally need to…uh…" he hesitated for a moment, the best word to complete the phrase somehow eluding him.

"Exploit?" Gus finished the thought for him.

"…Not quite the word I was looking for…"

"Don't correct my word choice, Shawn." Gus snapped, his eyes narrowing at his friend in the rear view mirror. "You already almost got me killed today _and _made me pay for a worthless broken camera! So lay off my vocabulary!"

"Okay, okay…" Shawn rolled his eyes, raising his hands in submission. "Exploit. Perfect word choice, Captain Vocab."

"Thank you."

Gus' death grip on the steering wheel relaxed ever so slightly.

Shawn grinned, knowing he was already out of the doghouse.

"If you're done yelling at me…don't you even want to know _why_ I had to look in the backroom myself and not just ask Big Foot about the watches?" He asked casually, resting his hands behind his head.

Gus' ears perked, and Shawn started to count backwards from five in his head, knowing his best friend's natural curiosity would get the better of him before he hit one.

_5…_

_4…_

_3…_

"Okay, fine." Gus grumbled two seconds early, trying to appear disinterested. "Why did you _have_ to look in the backroom yourself… _and_ lie to me about it?" He added with a bitter twinge.

"Don't you remember, Gus…I told you the watches had to have come from the pawn shop. We know that, so the question is why weren't there any watches out in the display cases when we went in? And what's a pawn shop in that crappy neighborhood doing with Rolexes, anyway? Where did they come from?"

"Yeah…" Gus nodded, blinking slowly. "I remember…"

"There's only one explanation, Gus…they were stolen!"

"Stolen?" Gus' eyebrows shot up. "There's no way you can know they were stolen!"

"Well, I couldn't without looking in the backroom." Shawn agreed. "But I had a hunch they were…and if I was right and the pawn shop was trafficking stolen merchandise, what good was it going to do asking Big Foot about it? He'd just lie, and we'd be tipping our hand that we suspected something was up. So, I had to look myself to see if I could find any watches or jewelry back there."

"And…?"

Shawn grinned and whipped out his cell phone, clicking through several photos of the backroom of the pawn shop.

"It took me a minute to find them. They were hidden in a hollow spot in the wall, but they're there, Gus. Watches, rings, necklaces…"

"But you can't prove they're stolen." Gus pointed out.

"Oh, really?"

Shawn reached into his pocket and pulled out several folded papers.

"What are those?" Gus asked, glancing over at them.

"The list of everything the pawn shop has bought over the last month…the one that they're required to file with the police." Shawn said, grinning victoriously. "I found a copy in the backroom…and guess what's _not_ on the list?"

"Jewelry?" Gus guessed.

"Exactly." Shawn nodded, flipping through them. "All they have listed are TV's, stereos and DVD players…not a single Rolex or diamond ring. That's enough to shut them down for good, even if none of the stuff in the wall is hot. It doesn't matter. They didn't report any of it."

"What if they bought them before this month?" Gus asked. "Maybe they _did_ report them earlier."

"They're only required to hold items in the backroom for thirty days, Gus. If they've been there longer than a month, they should be out in the display cases."

"Okay…so, they're stolen." Gus conceded finally. "But what does any of this have to with Mackay's suicide?"

"I don't know," Shawn shrugged. "But if that watch he was wearing really was stolen, he must have known that the pawn shop was selling stolen merchandise…maybe he tried to blackmail someone?"

"Maybe…" Gus agreed, not sounding convinced. "But you definitely can't prove that yet."

"I don't have all the answers yet, Gus…" Shawn agreed, closing his eyes thoughtfully. "But I think I have enough for a psychic vision…"


	16. Chapter 16

"Spencer!" Lassiter barked the moment he spotted Shawn across the precinct. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Before Shawn could even answer, however, the detective had already lost interest in the conversation. He turned to Buzz, irritably flinging some files at him.

"McNab!" He growled, sounding even more short-tempered and harried than usual. "Get those to O'Hara. She's waiting for them."

"Yes, Sir!" Buzz scampered away, wisely choosing not to get on Lassiter's bad side today.

Shawn, on the other hand, didn't seem the least bit intimidated by Lassiter's obvious bad mood.

"Aww, Lassie…it's been four days!" He gushed, each word dripping with honeyed insincerity. "Don't tell me you haven't missed me!"

"_Missed_ you?" Lassiter snorted. "The only reason I noticed you weren't around is because no one's stolen my handcuff keys in four days!"

"I would _never_!" Shawn gasped in feigned horror at the accusation.

"Yeah, right." Lassiter rolled his eyes, trying to push past the psychic. "I know it was you, Spencer."

Shawn blocked his path, reaching up and latching onto the detective's forehead with a vice-like grip.

"You forget I'm psychic, Lassie…" he grinned, closing his eyes dramatically. "I can read your thoughts…I know you missed me!"

Lassiter glowered at Shawn between his fingers, his voice suddenly threatening.

"Get. Your. Hands. Off. Me."

Each syllable was punctuated by an unspoken yet unmistakable expletive.

"I knew you were going to say that." Shawn crowed victoriously.

"You did not!"

"Sure I did!" Shawn insisted, opening his eyes again. "I told you. I can read your thoughts."

He massaged Lassiter's temple playfully.

"Then what am I thinking right now?" Lassiter growled, hitting Shawn's hand away.

Shawn stared at him intently for a moment.

"Lassie!" He gasped finally. "I'm blushing! That's such a personal question! But, since you asked…" he added, nudging the detective. "Boxers."

"Shut up, Spencer!" Lassiter growled, rolling his eyes and once again trying to maneuver around Shawn.

"Come on, Lassie!" Shawn called after him. "I'm going to see the Chief! Don't you want to come watch me solve yet another unsolvable case? It'll be fun! No promises…but there might even be ice cream in it for you. You're a tooty-frooty man, aren't you?"

Lassiter spun back around, his eyes narrowing.

"What case?" He demanded.

"The murder."

"You mean the suicide?"

"No…" Shawn shook his head. "I mean the murder. It was murder, Lassie."

"Spencer, we closed that case three days ago. The M.E.'s satisfied it was suicide. It's over. And, just in case you didn't notice, psychic, we have bigger problems to deal with right now than some loner blowing out his own brains."

Lassiter gestured around the precinct, and for the first time Shawn noticed that everyone did seem to be rushing around frantically, and the mood was quite a bit more tense than usual.

"What's going on?" He asked. "Did someone eat the last sprinkle donut?"

"No." Lassiter snapped. "Those tourist muggings started up again. There have been six of them over the last three days."

"Tourist muggings?" Shawn's eyebrows shot up.

"They've been going on for months." Lassiter snarled, pointing at a map of the city on the wall that was covered in push pins. "Same M.O. for all of them. Rich couple heading out of their hotel for a night on the town gets shoved into an alley and has a gun waved in their face. The muggers clean them out and take off, only to hit another couple a few hours later. They work fast, and until last month, they hadn't actually hurt anyone."

"What happened last month?"

"Someone fought back…and ended up with a bullet through the gut for their trouble. The muggings cooled down after that, but now they're back and the mayor is breathing down our necks to catch them before word gets out that Santa Barbara isn't the best tourist destination."

He spun on his heel and started to march away.

"So, go pedal your psychic voodoo crap somewhere else, Spencer." He added over his shoulder. "The _real_ cops have actual work to do."

Shawn stared at the map of Santa Barbara for a long, silent moment, running his fingers over the colorful pins.

A slow grin spread over his face as his eyes lit up.

"Lassie!" He called, running to catch up with the detective.

"Go away Spencer!"

"I will…" Shawn promised. "Just answer two questions."

Lassiter stopped, turning back to Shawn impatiently.

"What?" He sighed.

"If I caught the muggers _and_ proved the suicide was really murder, would you dance on a desk with a lampshade on your head and sing S_weet Caroline_ at the Christmas party?"

"_What?_"

"But more importantly…" Shawn continued, ignoring Lassiter's baffled, semi-pissed off expression. "…Are there any more sprinkle donuts left?"


	17. Chapter 17

"What the _hell_ are you talking about, Spencer?" Lassiter growled, but Shawn wasn't listening anymore.

His hands were gripping the sides of his head, his eyes squeezed shut as if he was fighting against some great agony.

Juliet glanced at Lassiter quizzically as she made her way across the precinct back to her desk.

"Is he getting a psychic flash?" She asked.

"He's _getting_ on my last nerve." Lassiter shot back. "He's still saying that 11-84 from a few days ago was murder."

"Bishop!" Shawn shouted suddenly, his eyes opening. "King!"

"Oh, God…" Lassiter groaned. "I'm going to shoot him."

"Shh!" Juliet hissed, smacking his arm.

She grabbed a pen off her desk and watched intently as Shawn stumbled around, still yelling.

"Knight! That….castle thing…"

"We get it, Spencer! They're all chess pieces!" Lassiter barked, rolling his eyes. "Get to the point!"

"Queen!"

"Spencer!"

"No…not Spencer…" Shawn corrected him, a single finger massaging his temple as he continued in his trance. "…There's no chess piece called Spencer…Rook!"

"That's it." Lassiter growled, turning to Juliet. "Where's my taser?"

"Pawn!" Shawn continued, apparently oblivious to Lassiter's threats. "Pawn…pawn…once u-pawn a time?...Waaaaay down on the pawny river…."

Shawn's voice echoed across the station as he sang out at the top of his lungs, sounding more than a little like a drunken sailor.

"Okay…" Juliet sighed at Lassiter. "You can taser him."

"No!" Shawn gasped, his trance breaking. "That's not it…Pawn…shop! In the victim's apartment! There was a pawn shop ticket!...I'm seeing…it's for a TV…or stereo…some kind of electronic…"

"So what?" Lassiter shrugged. "Did you see the guy's apartment? He was broke! He probably pawned everything he owned!"

"But there's something else there…" Shawn continued, reaching into his back pocket. "Something else…"

He pulled out a watch and dangled it in the air, letting it sway gently back and forth.

"Hey!" Lassiter scowled, looking down at his bare wrist. "That's _my_ watch! Where the hell did you--"

"Yes!" Shawn interrupted him with a cryptic whisper. "I'm seeing a stolen watch…on the victim's wrist! The victim was wearing a stolen Rolex! If you trace it, you'll find out it

belonged to one of the mugging victims!"

Juliet quickly jotted some notes down in her small spiral notebook.

"I remember that watch…" she murmured to herself. "I think it's still in Evidence with the victim's personal items. I'll run a trace on it."

"No, you won't!" Lassiter snapped, snatching his watch out of Shawn's hand and angrily snapping it back onto his wrist. "It was suicide, Spencer! And even if the victim _was_ wearing a stolen watch, which you can't prove, what the hell does that have to do with a pawn shop ticket for a TV?"

Shawn grinned, knowing he had Lassie on the hook now.

Whether he would admit it or not, the detective was hanging on his every word.

Or maybe he was just waiting to see if Shawn had stolen anything else from him…

"Wait…" Shawn whispered, collapsing into a chair, clutching his head in his hands. "I'm getting something…the TV…or stereo…or whatever…doesn't exist. It never existed…the ticket's a fake…a way to fence stolen merchandise through the pawn shop while making it look legitimate. Check the serial number on the ticket! I bet it's not real!"

"What are you talking about?" Juliet asked, dropping her notebook and pulling up a chair.

"Oh God, O'Hara…" Lassiter moaned. "Don't encourage him!"

"It was a perfect plan!" Shawn explained quickly, ignoring Lassiter's snide comment. "The victim and the pawn shop owner would mug tourists and sell the stolen merchandise through the pawn shop. But they couldn't have all of these unexplained cash transactions on the books. Sooner or later, someone would notice and start asking questions. So, they made them look legitimate. Every time someone bought a stolen watch or ring, they dummied up a fake ticket to make it look like they were pawning TVs and DVD players. They dummied up the list they filed with the cops, too, so no one would bother looking there for the stolen goods. According to their records, they never bought or sold any jewelry at all. It was all going perfectly…until a month ago."

"A month ago?" Lassiter's brow furrowed, his brain working feverishly to keep a step ahead of the psychic. "You mean when the muggers finally shot someone?"

"Exactly…" Shawn nodded. "Something happened after that...the muggings stopped for a while. Maybe Mackay wanted out. Maybe he tried to blackmail his partner…whatever it was, the only way out for the pawn shop owner to kill Mackay. After he was dead, he could start back up again…probably with help…most likely from teenagers with scary, spiky hair…"

"But you can't prove any of this!" Lassiter insisted, crossing his arms.

Shawn pulled a paper out of his pocket and tossed it to the detective.

"That's the list of everything the pawn shop claims to have bought and sold over the last month. Check out the serial numbers. Most of them are probably fake. It's enough to get a warrant to search the shop."

"Where the hell did you get _this_?" Lassiter demanded, his eyebrows arching as he glanced it over. "This is official police property."

"Uh…the Spirits gave to me…I asked them real nicely…" Shawn cleared his throat, quickly moving on. "And I'm betting if you compare the bullet that killed Mackay with the bullet that shot the tourist, you'll find out they were fired from the same gun."

Juliet stood up.

"It's worth checking out." She told her partner, taking the list from him and heading to her computer.

Lassiter didn't say anything. He just spun on his heel and started to march away, muttering under his breath.

"Lassie!" Shawn called after him.

"What?" Lassiter growled, whirling around and spitting daggers at the psychic with his eyes.

Shawn just grinned and tossed a wallet across the room.

"You might need that." He said. "It matches your watch."

Lassiter scowled and touched his back pocket, where he generally kept his wallet.

Of course, it was empty.

"And you really shouldn't keep it in your back pocket." Shawn added with an innocent smile. "Do you have any idea how easy it is to pick a back pocket? Way easier than getting the watch off someone's wrist without them noticing!"

* * *

When the waitress put the bill on the table, Shawn immediately slid it across the table to his father.

"I didn't say I was paying, Shawn." Henry growled, crossing his arms stubbornly.

"Really?" Shawn countered. "So, you push me off a roof, and then you won't even buy me lunch?"

"That was two weeks ago!"

"So?"

"So, get over it, Kid."

"You pushed me off a roof!"

"Fine." Henry rolled his eyes, finally picking the check up. "I'll pay for your damn lunch."

"_And_ I'm getting a piece of pie." Shawn added with a maniacal grin, enjoying every moment of torturing his father.

"Fine." Henry agreed, leaning back in his booth. "But first, you have to tell me how many hats."

"No, way!" Shawn snorted.

But this time, Henry wasn't waivering.

"Shawn, it's the same deal as when you were a kid." He said firmly. "If you want dessert, close your eyes and tell me how many hats!"

"Dad--"

"I think it's apple pie today…I guess I'll be eating two pieces."

"Fine." Shawn scowled, clapping his hands over his eyes with a dramatic sigh. "I'll tell you how many damn hats…"

It took him a long moment to form a picture of the restaurant in his mind, but it finally faded into view.

"Five." He said, sounding slightly unsure of himself.

"Are you sure?" Henry asked.

Shawn thought again, his fingers digging into his temple.

"Yeah…" He nodded finally. "The paper hat on the waitress…the two truckers with baseball hats in the corner…the country-singer wannabe in the ten-gallon cowboy hat…and the baseball hat on the grumpy old guy sitting in front of me. That's five."

He opened his eyes again.

Henry silently gestured at the booth next to them, where a little girl was sitting with her mother.

On the little girl's head was a foam T-ball hat with the teamname The Sparkles emblazoned across it.

"Damn it." Shawn groaned "How did I miss that one? I never miss hats!"

Before Henry could say anything, the waitress appeared at their table again.

"Can I get you boys anything else?" She asked with a friendly smile.

Henry hesitated, his eyes locking with Shawn's for a brief moment.

"Yeah…" he said finally. "Two pieces of pie."

The waitress nodded and left.

"Pie?" Shawn blinked in surprise. "I missed a hat, Dad."

Henry just shrugged.

"What the hell? I pushed you off the roof…but now we're even." He added with a warning glare. "So the next time you miss a hat, you're buying your own damn pie."


End file.
